Take A Bow
by JennaLynne
Summary: Rachel's made it big on Broadway, and has everything she's ever wanted. Or does she?
1. A Round of Applause

Author's Note: This is my first Glee fic. It's slightly AU because I've set it about four years after the plot taking place within the current season. I won't give you pairings because I like stuff like that to be a surprise. All that being said, enjoy, and please review.

* * *

_"These violent delights have violent ends_  
_And in their triumph die, like fire and powder,_  
_Which, as they kiss, consume"_

_-Romeo and Juliet (Act II, Scene VI)_

It doesn't matter how often you perform, there's always the moment, just before the lights come up, where the butterflies that rest within your stomach decide to perform an act of their own, kick-flipping with a style even the grandest choreographer would be proud of. But then when the switch is flipped, and the heat of the lights beats down on the back of your neck, they settle away. You belt out that first note, you rock your first dance step.

Because once the lights come up, all eyes are on you.

It's that moment, when all the eyes are on me, that I live for. It's that moment that I left Ohio at the tender age of seventeen to find. Because while show choir – while Mr. Schue and the Glee Club – gave that to me for a little while, I needed more. Rachel Berry always needs more. I'm not, nor have I ever been the type of girl that settles.

This is why, I suppose, that at the still young age of twenty, I'm already starring in a Broadway production. Playing Wendla Bergman in _Spring Awakening_. Six days a week, twice a day. And there isn't a minute I don't love it.

Okay. That was a lie. There are moments where I hate that my entire career relies on my voice. Like right now, when I'm trying to enjoy my single day off, but I can't because my throat is on fire. I'll try to avoid talking, but I can never seem to shut up long enough to truly rest my voice. But here's the sheer truth: the ends absolutely justify the means.

I wouldn't go back and do anything differently.

* * *

Still stretched out comfortably in my powernap position, I crack one eye open slowly, taking survey of how much housework I need to complete within my remaining few hours off. My throat is still throbbing, and my body aches with exhaustion. My one bedroom apartment in Stamford Connecticut, thirty minutes outside of New York, seemed like an excellent investment at the time. Which of course, was before I realized that renting a space of your own, on your own, meant you had to keep it clean. By yourself. I like things clean. But as I've discovered recently, I don't like to be the one that has to clean them.

So during the week, shoes get dropped by the doorway, clothes fall off next, often being flung over the back of the beat up, forest green, secondhand couch that envelops most of my living area. Though sometimes, my aim is poor enough that a sweatshirt will land atop my television set, or fall onto the floor and slide through the open space and into the kitchen. Which is dirty enough on its own, because somehow, the used dishes have a habit of filling up the sink, then scattering themselves along the countertops. I'm probably the type of person who should invest in paper plates and plastic silverware, but I tried that once. And I ran out, and forgot to buy more. I was dish-less for a week. Needless to say, I abandoned that plan pretty quickly.

The only room in the entire place that stays clean all the time is just past the kitchen, behind a closed door, my bedroom. Which, yeah, is ironic. Because when I am home, it's probably the room I spend the most time in. But then again, I guess unless you're a crazy person who sleepwalks and destroys things in the process, a room that you literally use just for sleeping wouldn't get that messy.

Finally, after a few moments of sighing - yet another deliberate procrastination move - I drag myself off the couch, and decide to tackle the mountain of dishes first. iPod speakers sit on the only counter space not occupied with a dirty dish of some kind or another, and I need to promise myself that if I do put on music, that I won't sing along. That I'll at least make some form of an effort to rest my voice. So I swear up, down, backwards, forwards and even in French that I won't jam out, before I allow myself to plug in my iTouch and press play.

It takes a moment, shuffling through my five thousand songs, searching for one to begin with. When it finally settles on an old Celine Dion love ballad, I nod my head along in tune with the music, yank some dishes from the sink, so I have space, and get down to work.

* * *

It takes me three hours to get the apartment back into something resembling order. And I've just barely finished when I hear a key turning slowly within the tumblers of my front door lock. Scrambling, I shut off my iPod which was blasting show-tunes, and I plaster a smile on my face as the only person I've wanted to see all day steps inside my home.

"Rachel." He says my name on a breath, softly, but not gently. Ice plays in his tone, and I wonder why.

Alexander Lysocheck is not the kind of person I imagined I'd wind up with. Sure, he's tall and built in the same way Finn was in high school. A strong square jaw, with a mass of dark hair that tends to fall lopsided over his left eye. Physically, he's everything I've always been attracted to. But there's something distinctly different about him. Something new, raw, and perhaps a little scary. On some level, it's intimidating, but I've never been one to back away from a challenge.

"Alex." I respond smoothly, stepping towards him, my hand outstretched. "I've missed you."

He cups my face in his hands, lowers his lips to mine, sinking me into a fiery kiss.

"Where have you been all day?" he mutters, lips still inches from mine. It takes me a moment to catch my breath, find my voice again.

"Right here. I took a nap, cleaned up a little."

His eyebrow shoots upwards, but he says nothing more, simply takes my hand and pulls me down onto the beat-up sofa. He's kissing me again, mouths pressed together, hands dancing their way underneath my tank-top fumbling with the clasp on my bra.

I press my hand to his chest, my plea breathless. "Wait. Stop."

"Come on Rach, I haven't seen you in three days. Don'tcha wanna do this for me?"

He looks so sad, so helpless. For a brief moment, I'm rendered speechless. "Of course I do…" I finally spit out. "But I was hoping we could go out and grab an early dinner or something."

"We can eat after" he says, voice filled with ice. But the chill his tone has taken doesn't prevent him from touching me again, running his hands where I don't want them, where I'm powerless to keep them from going.

The sound of his zipper sliding down, my skirt rustles as he pushes it up. With a gasp, he's inside me. It takes everything I have not to cry out, to take shallow breaths as I wait for him to finish.

He comes, announcing his release with a low guttural grunt just as my cell phone begins to vibrate on the end table beside the couch. Alex rolls off me, panting and exhausted from his workout. I force myself to exhale in an attempt to steady my mind. I glance at the display. The theatre. The fact that they're calling on my day off can only mean my understudy is either ill or hurt, and they need me to come in and perform tonight. I look at Alex through the corners of my eye, and he scowls, but nods, motioning for me to answer the call.

Within minutes I'd promised to be there in an hour. I've hardly disconnected before Alex has gripped my arm with all his strength.

"You owe me an evening now."

He's hurting me, and I can't find my voice, so I simply nod.

We say nothing more, and after another five minutes, he's gone.

The lock clicks behind him, and I will myself not to cry as I sprint around collecting what I need before leaving myself.

* * *

By the time the lights go down, signifying the end of another successful evening, I've found my center again. I can't fight the bitter sense of disappointment that encompasses me though, I know I haven't done my best. No sour notes, but I feel like something was missing none the less. And knowing that annoys me. I don't like to settle for less than the best. So, while I can say I have put the afternoons events behind me, and I'm relatively calm again, I'm still sitting in my dressing room, slowly wiping make-up from my face, sulking. Moping and wishing I had a hot cup of tea to soothe my aching throat.

A knock on the door distracts me from that thought. I lean backwards and yank it open, finding myself face to face with one of the security guards, Hank DeMayo. I give him a gentle smile, which he returns. Hank is a giant contradiction, over six feet of bulky tough black male, and soft as melted ice cream on the inside. You can't help but like him. He shuffles his feet on the ground before speaking slowly.

"Miz Berry, I'm sorry, I know it was apposed to be your night off, and you don't feel good and all, but there's a gentleman outside and he really wants to talk to you…"

I feel my eyebrows shoot upwards, all traces of serenity vanishing from my face. "Mr. Lysocheck?"

Hank shakes his head. "Shucks Miz Berry, no. We all know the leading lady's man. Know enough to let him back no questions. This guy claims he was your high school Spanish teacher or something."

Excitement replaces the fear that had flooded my system. "William Schuester?"

He snaps his fingers and points at me, breaking out into a grin. "That's his name!"

I laugh. "It's alright, let him back."

Hank nods, and disappears. I take a moment to finish cleaning my face.

"Well. Well. Look who's a big broadway star."

I wish I had some witty comeback, but when I see him, I find I'm so excited to see a familiar face, I only jump up and squeal, throwing my arms around his neck in a viselike hug. When we finally break apart, he's still smiling.

"You look fantastic." He mutters, taking a step back and looking me over. "And you sounded even better."

"I wouldn't have gotten this far without you and Glee Mr. Schue."

"I doubt that. You would've wound up here either way. You were always the best we had. Haven't won nationals since you graduated."

I blush, and wave him off. "So, what brings you all the way to New York?"

"Job-hunting." He says softly. And I suppose the confusion is evident upon my face, because he elaborates without me asking for it. "Emma and I broke up… I needed a change."

"Wait." I pause, trying not to giggle. "Emma, Miss Pillsbury, Emma?"

He does laugh. "It was no secret we were dating Rachel."

"I know. I mean, I can remember when you started. I guess I'm just surprised you stayed together so long." I shrug "I'm still young enough to think that romances can't… or won't last."

"I'm romantic enough to believe there's someone out there for everyone. But in my case, I've not yet found it. You're right, in this case, the relationship wasn't meant to last. We just grew apart. Or I changed. Or both."

"I'm sorry Mr. Schue, as little faith as I have in relationships; I know break-ups suck."

"True. But in this case, It was for the best."

He cups my chin in his hands, and stares at my face. "I don't want to talk about my lousy love life. Tell me all about you being this big broadway star. I had no idea. News like this doesn't make it back to Lima."

"It was no secret Mr. Schue."

He makes a face at having his own words spit back at him. I laugh. "And call me Will. I'm not your teacher anymore Rachel." He blows out a breath. "but seriously, I had no idea you were in this show. I'm really glad I decided to see it. Total whim that paid off."

"I'm glad too. It's pretty cool to have had a friend in the audience."

"Better than having a creepy stalker fan out there, huh?"

"I've had a few of those, so I can say, without a doubt, absolutely. They're hard to deter after they've seen your bare breasts."

Will laughs awkwardly, remembering my brief moment of in show semi-nudity. I lift my bag off the floor, shifting it onto my shoulder and change the subject. "So, where are you off to tonight?"

"No special plans. Wanted to catch a show and have a drink. Obviously did the first, so it would follow I should find somewhere to do the latter." He pauses. "suggestions?"

"I'm still underage." I remind him playfully with an innocent laugh. "I wouldn't know the first thing about alcohol."

"You are a bad liar. Always were."

I shrug. "Okay, You caught me. I know a few places we could go, and catch up a little more."

"I can't think of anything I'd rather do."

* * *

Review! Review! I won't keep going if you don't!


	2. A Standing Ovation

Author's Note: First of all, I want to say thank you to everyone who reviewed. The response to this story is the best I've ever had for any story! So, seriously, from the bottom of my heart, thank you. Now, that being said, I wanted to apologise for taking so damn long to update. Usually I'm not this bad about posting my new chapters, but in my defence, I've had school (I'm taking 21 credits this semester) and I'm also working a 25 hour week. I barely have time to breathe. I hope I'll be able to get the next chapter up more quickly, but I can't make a promise. I do hope you'll bear with me, because I hope to keep every chapter up to the standards I set with the first one.

Last thing, then I'll let you get onto the story: this chapter gets midly graphic towards the end. If that bothers you, please skip it. Chapter three will briefly recap everything that happens here, so you won't be lost if you need to skip.

Again, thanks, and please, please review!

* * *

It smells like a bar. But not in that dingy, grimy kind of way. More like, laughter, with familiar scarred wooden tables with friendly bowls of cliché peanuts atop them. The heavy scent of wheat beer hangs in the air and swirls together with the random puffs of cigarette smoke that dance their way inside whenever the door swings open. It smells like a bar. And I'm okay with that.

Apparently so is Mr. Scheuster, because he smiles as soon as we step inside.

"See, I knew you'd know exactly where to go."

"I like this place." I respond with what I hope is an easy shrug. "The beer is cheap, and if you're so inclined, the food is halfway decent."

We make our way over to the counter, and Will orders something dark that foams at the head, while I settle for water. Fighting our way through a rapidly growing crowd, we steal the single empty table near a window streaked with condensation. It's warm, the radio pumps some cheesy pop song. I use my straw to squish the lemon in my water to the bottom of the glass, swirling it around slowly, letting the ice clink along the sides. Will takes a long drag off his beer before smiling at me softly.

"It's amazing you've come this far, Rachel. I'm proud to have been your teacher."

I feel the blush rise hot and fast from the back of my neck. I don't know how to respond, so I simply smile again and continue to sip my water, catching the straw between my teeth. I chew on it for a while and a silence lapses over us, it's familiar, and there's something of a comfort in the lack of words. But I find I'm not disappointed when he breaks the quiet either.

"You'd think," he begins, and pauses to sip his drink, "that with so many schools in the area, that it would be easy to find a teaching job."

I nod, still playing with my straw and the ice in my glass. "Yeah, you would think. But I'm sure you'll find something." He shrugs, takes another drink, and says nothing, so I continue. "I meant to ask... why New York? It's so far..." I trail off, leaving the rest unsaid.

"It's... different. Almost the anti-Lima. Faster, and never turned off. I think I need the drasticness of a change like that." He sighs, almost wistfully.

"I completely get that." I mutter as he drains his glass. "Want another?"

He shakes his head, declining. "Interviews in the morning." Will responds, by way of an excuse.

"Speaking of tomorrow..." I begin slowly. "Or, rather, of tonight, where are you staying?"

"Hotel, on 54th."

"If you like..." I pause, considering the implications of what I'm about to say, and decide to say it anyway. "My couch pulls out. It's not much, but it's free."

The corners of his mouth tug up slightly. "Thanks for the offer Rachel, but I wouldn't want to put you out in any way. And besides, the last thing a twenty year old wants is her old high school teacher crashing on the couch."

I laugh. "Yes, because you'd be interrupting the ragging kegger I was planning on throwing." I roll my eyes. "Honestly Mr. Schue."

He laughs too. "Just the same, I'll give you your space. It's easier this way."

"Alright. But the offer stands."

"So noted." He responds with another smile. "I would like to do this..." he gestures around the bar "again tomorrow, before I have to head back to Lima. If you've the time, that is."

"Totally." I agree quickly. "Come by the theatre around eleven. I'll leave your name at the door, so they'll just let you through. No problems like tonight."

"Sounds like a plan." He whispers, and with another half smile, he's gone.

***

It's almost two am by the time I slide my key into my lock. Lights are still on inside, and I wonder if Alex is still here or if he simply forgot to turn them off. After all, it's not his electric bill. My question is answered within seconds, however, when I hear the clatter of breaking glass coming from the kitchen. Alarmed, I call out to him.

"Alex?! Are you alright?"

He steps out of the shadows, leaning against the kitchen counter, using it to stabilize himself. He smiles drunkenly.

"Fine, my little adulterous bitch."

I stop dead in my tracks. "What are you talking about?"

"Go google yourself my dear. I know all about the side dish you left the theatre with tonight."

I breathe a sigh of relief. I'm not really sure why, I knew I hadn't done anything wrong, but I still feel better knowing I have an explanation for it all anyway. "That was just my old high school Spanish teacher. He came to see the show, and we just went to catch up."

He takes three staggering steps towards me. "Now why, do I not believe that."

"Alex, I swear, I love you. Why would I ever-"

Before I can finish the sentence, he's reached out and slapped me, palm connecting with my cheek. I reel back, tears welling in my eyes.

"You cheated on me. And you're standing there, lying to my face about it!"

He's screaming, and I can't even hear the words anymore. I watch, as if in slow motion, he raises his fists yet again, and I come to my senses long enough to yell out.

"For the love of god Alex! Not my face!"

He punches me in the side, and I crumple to the floor. He kicks me repeatedly, violently screaming obscenities. I feel myself begin to cry, and I don't stop until everything goes black.


	3. Put on Quite a Show

**Author's Note**: _I owe anyone who is still faithfully reading this story a huge apology as well as my undying gratitude. Between the hectic nature of my life and being afflicted with a nasty case of writers block, this update is way long overdue. I know it's short, and you all deserve much more, but I'm trying. I hope you enjoy. _

* * *

When I come around, the first thing that catches my eye is the glaring green, almost garish light from the microwave clock as it spits back the ungodly hour of four am. There's glass on the linoleum floor, shattered remnants of the vodka bottle Alex dropped when I walked in the door earlier. The next thing I feel is a sharp pain in my chest as I inhale; it feels as though I've swallowed a knife. Blood congeals in a crimson puddle near my head, and I know I should clean it before I drag myself off to bed or else it will stain the white linoleum tiles of the floor, but I also know I don't have the stamina to do it now. Slowly, and excruciatingly painfully, I reach up and grab the countertop, using it to stabilize myself as I get up and make my way into my bedroom. I burrow beneath my comforter; the sheets feel cool against my suddenly burning skin.

Eyelids are heavy, and I feel myself slip under, once again hiding from the pain.

* * *

The sunlight wakes me as it streaks its way through the cracks in the blinds. I feel immediate soreness, as though I've spent the entire previous day at a gym. And that feeling sucks doubly, first because of the obvious pain, and secondly, because I've reaped none of the rewards of spending a whole day at the gym.

I just hurt.

As I get out of bed, I'm helplessly drawn to stare at my reflection in the full length mirror that hangs on my closet door. The worst of the bruising has avoided my face, and for that, I am thankful. But the purple mars my left side, unconnected splotches of bruising that serve in conjunction with the soreness as a reminder of last night's charade. Where I cut open the back of my head - presumably in the fall I took passing out – though it's possible Alex's foot connected with my skull at some point while I was unconscious – the blood has clotted and stuck itself in chunks in my hair. Gingerly, I trail my fingers through the brown cascading waves and watch flakes of red fly to the ground. A shudder runs through my spine, the crimson colour reminds me that I should go clean the stain off the kitchen floor before it can get any worse. But I'm still exhausted, and in pain, so again, I push the thought of my own blood dyeing the cheap fake red tile from my mind and haul myself into the bathroom.

I run the water in the shower so hot it could blister skin. I lose track of time as I stand beneath the stream and let it rub my skin red and raw. I stand there until the tap runs cold and my blood feels warm again.

Against all logic, I drift into the kitchen. There, etched into the floor, remains a permanent reminder of what happened. I'm enveloped by a need to erase it. To clean the floor, because if I can scrub the traces of violence away, I can pretend it never happened. But the swiffer wet vac, soap and water, and even bleach can't seem to remove the vermilion traces of the previous night. Even after hours of futile scrubbing, the stain is still there. The effort drains me, and I simply give up. The entire apartment reeks of cleaning products. Their scent is so strong I know my downstairs neighbour will call shortly to complain about it. And thinking about how in tune he is with the goings on of my apartment, I start to wonder, why didn't he, why didn't someone, didn't anyone, hear me last night? I must have screamed.

I know I cried.

I start to think; maybe the fights in my home have become that commonplace, so banal, that the neighbours just ignore them now. I'm not worth the energy it takes to save someone.

Or do they think I don't want to be saved?

Succumbing to the emotional exhaustion, I fall onto the couch and sleep dreamlessly.

* * *

Hours which seem like minutes later, Broadway murmurs it's siren song; beckoning to me with the promise of musical cleansing. Stage makeup works it's magic, and I apply it expertly covering the few, faint bruises he placed carelessly on my face. It's when I'm up there, in those few moments before I belt out the first note of the night, completely alone on the scarred wood with the heavy lights beating down, that I finally start to let go of what happened.

* * *

I gave myself completely over to the part, using Wendla and her troubles to temporarily escape my own. And now as I wipe the eyeliner from my eyes, I'm acutely aware it was quite possibly the best performance I've ever given.

The realization of this has excitement bubbling up inside me, and I can't help myself, I let out a tiny squeal of delight, and pump my fist in the air as a form of mini celebration. It's my luck though that during this immature happy dance, Hank has poked his head into my dressing room.

When I realize I'm caught, I flush and stare at my feet. He blushes too, and clears his throat before saying anything.

"Sorry Miz Berry – the door was open and your guest is-a-waitin'"

The delight vanishes. "Guest?" Dread seeps in as I think only, Alexander.

"Yup" Hank says with a smile, "the gentleman froms last night."

I exhale, letting out the breath I hadn't been aware I was even holding. "Oh" I finally manage with a polite smile. "Send him back right away."

He beams and turns to leave, but stops short, spinning back.  
"You know, I've been doing this a long time and I has seen quite a few actresses come and go – but Miz Berry, what I seen out there tonight, that was gold. You're amazing, so don't let nobody tell you differently."

Gratitude fills me, and I grab his huge hand, squeezing it gently. "Hearing that means more than you know." I only debate for a moment before speaking my next sentence. "Hank... if Mr. Lysocheck comes by, stop him. Don't let him back here. Please."

He snaps to attention. "Anything for you." And with that simple response, he wanders away. I manage to finish wiping the eyeliner off my other eye before Will comes bursting into the dressing room. He doesn't say a word, just lifts me from my chair and wraps me into a huge hug, spinning me around in circles. When he finally sets me down, he looks straight into my eyes before speaking.

"Phenomenal. Outstanding. There aren't enough adjectives to describe you."

I laugh, and it feels good. "I pretty much kicked ass, didn't I?"

"Understatement. Serious understatement."

"Like I told you yesterday, I owe it all to my fabulous high school glee director."

He shakes his head no before saying, "You owe it all to talent, hard work, and dedication."

My reply is tongue in cheek, chewed off as I collect the belongings I scattered across the dressing room. "Whatever you say Mr. Shue."

"Damn right, whatever I say. So now young lady, care to tell me how a bruise the size of Texas appeared on your side sometime between last night's performance and the once that just took place?"

The sinking feeling returns to the core of my being, and force myself to swallow as I realize I didn't take the time to cover up the marks on the rest of my body, forgetting I had a scene where I'm half naked on stage. "I don't want to talk about it. It was a stupid accident." Is all I can manage to force out before the memories return in waves, cresting high with emotional pain. Quickly, I pivot leaning over the trash can just in time to expel the contents of my stomach.

Will waits calmly, holding back my hair as I finish retching, handing me a tissue to wipe off my face, now streaked too with tears. Our eyes are connected, bearing holes into each other's souls, as the silence between us grows longer until he finally breaks.

"I'm not going to make you say anything – I'm not going to make you tell me anything you don't want to share. But Rachel, if we're being honest, I already know exactly what's going on. If I didn't when I walked in here, I certainly do now"

"I know" I mutter uselessly. "It's just that... once I actually say it aloud, it can't be unsaid."

He cups my face gently with the palms of his hands. "If you leave it unsaid, then nothing will change. And if that's what you want, so help me though it might kill me, I'll respect it. Say the word though, and we stop it. Here. Now. Tonight."

"He hit me Will. And it wasn't the first time."


	4. Curtain's Finally Closing

_**Author's Note: If anyone is still reading this, once again, thanks for sticking with me. I promise, eventually it will be completed. I know the chapters are short (if you've read any of my other stuff, you know I'm kinda infamous for that!) but I will eventually finish. It's just a matter of finding the time. Thanks for putting up with me and my million-hour-a-week jobs. Your patience will be rewarded in time.**_

* * *

I feel my breath hitch in, a shallow sound I won't release until I get a response from Will. I gage his face as I wait, because he already knew what I was going to say. Of this much, I am sure. What I can't understand is why he looks like a science fair volcano, moments from exploding.

"Say something" I plead helplessly, desperately needing some form of verbal affirmation to erase the tears I feel brewing behind my eyes.

He inhales, then finally speaks, the words coming slowly. "Where is he now?" A hint of fire edges in his voice.

I take a step back, a surge of fear welling up inside me. "Don't… you're not going to like, hurt him… are you?" I spit out rapidly. As much as I want Alex to stop hurting me, as much as I might even want to be rid of him forever, I still care for him, and I don't want to see him physically harmed.

An eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind.

Will swallows hard. Now I can see on his face that he wasn't consciously planning on hurting Alex. He wasn't going to chase him down and exact some form of twisted revenge. I suddenly feel stupid for even bringing it up. He's a teacher, a healer, not a violent person. And yet still, he hesitates a moment before answering me. I raise my eyes, meeting his, voicelessly begging him to avoid this physical fight.

"I won't hurt him." Will assures me. "I just want to know if he'll be at your apartment. If not, you and I are going to go over there right now, get the things you'll need to start over, and then get the hell out of there."

Like a sour note, the thing he's left unsaid hangs above us: go somewhere the bastard can't find you.

A lone tear escapes and trails gently down my face.

"Okay." I agree after a few moments. "He shouldn't be at my place. He usually plays poker with a few friends on Tuesdays. Most often, he stays out all night."

With this confirmation, Will turns on his heels and leaves. I take a second to toss shoes on my feet, and grab my keys before following him into the night.

The scent of oncoming snow hangs in the air, icy, wet and crisp; it sends a chill through my jacketless body, making the hairs on my arms stand on end. The streets are deserted and it doesn't take me long to catch up to him. I cup my hands together and breathe into them trying to feign warmth.

"You can't go without me." I remind him. "You don't even know where you're going."

"You could give me directions. I'd rather you stayed here, away just in case he is home."

I shake my head. "No deal."

He scowls at me as we head into the subway terminal. Down here, the atmosphere is drastically different than on the street above. Bodies press together; the air is stale, thick and heavy with odors of sweat and human waste. Thankfully the A train arrives soon, and we board with no problems.

Riding in silence, I steal sideways glances at him, trying to garner some idea of what he's thinking. His face tells me his mind is moving at speeds of a thousand miles an hour, with no signs of slowing down. I can't get a read on what he's thinking at all.

With a sigh, he runs his hands through his hair and closes his eyes. A weight settles heavily onto my chest and I fight the fit of nausea which threatens of overcome me. I've put this insurmountable burden upon him. I've dumped the one thing I cannot deal with onto one of the few people I truly care about. It's not fair of me to ask him to accomplish something I wouldn't deal with myself. As we disembark the subway at Grand Central Station to change for the train up to Stamford, I break our silence.

"I'm so sorry." I whisper.

He stops abruptly, spins towards me, and stares directly into my eyes before speaking.

"No. No, you don't get to apologize for what HE did to you. And don't you dare be sorry, even for a second that you told me."

"But…"I stutter over my words "But I'm asking so much of you. It's not right."

"Rachel, it's for me to decide if it's too much. And I'm saying it isn't."

"You just look so…overwhelmed."

"Only because I'm angry I didn't come sooner, didn't stop this sooner."

"How could you have known?" I roll my eyes. "This is something I should be handling on my own. It's not your responsibility."

We begin walking again; I swipe my metro card at an automated kiosk, ordering two tickets as he speaks.

"I could have been here sooner." He mutters. "I came to New York to see you."

I interject "I thought you said-"

He waves me off. "I know what I said. That it was because Emma dumped me. And I wanted the anti-Lima. And maybe that stuff is true, partly, but it's also true that there hasn't been a single day that's gone by since you graduated that I haven't thought of you, thought of coming here to see you. And if I had done it sooner, maybe I could have stopped this."

The PA system bellows loudly above us, announcing the arrival of our train. We make our way toward the track and I rack my brain, searching for the right response. Stupidly, all I manage to squeak out is, "Why?"

He laughs a deep heartfelt sound that gives me the first true warmth I've felt in hours. "Why does any man think about any woman? Rachel, if I had the answer to that question; I'd probably be a very wealthy man." He smiles softly as we find seats on the train. "I came here to find you. Maybe I was hoping that once I saw you I'd realize I'd been thinking about you so often because I was proud of the success you'd become. Maybe I was hoping that seeing you again would make the feelings vanish, that I'd see the, no offense, mildly dorky sophomore you were when we first met all those years ago. Maybe… I don't know. But what I do know is that there's no way in hell I was going to passively walk away after I learned you were being hurt."

The sincerity in his voice scrapes at the very essence of my soul, and for the first time in my life, I move before I think, act before I check. Leaning over, I linked my hands behind his head and laid my mouth, soft and inviting on his. The simple brush, easy movement of lips and tongue has heat rising in my blood. A jolt of pleasure shoots straight though me as he runs his hands slowly up and down my body. The sound of his sigh sends thunder through my brain.

It could've been seconds, minutes, or hours. We don't stop until the jolt mellows to a simmer. Time stands still until we break apart, gasping for breath. Swept away. I've never actually believed in that notion before, but there are no other words which can describe what I felt in this moment. And no words are needed between us. He takes me hand, plaiting my fingers gingerly between his; I rest my head on his shoulder, no longer afraid of what may await us when we arrive at my apartment.

* * *

The apartment is dark and reeks of the bleach I spent the morning scrubbing the floor with. Will fumbles around on the wall for the lights, while I navigate my way through the blackness, heading straight for my bedroom, not wanting to look at the crimson which still mars my kitchen floor.

He finds the switch, fluorescent lights flood the tiny space.

"What do you need from out here?" he calls to me.

I run a mental checklist of what I need and where it's located. "The bottle of wine in the fridge." I joke half-heartedly.

Will laughs, but I hear him meander his way into the kitchen and yank open the refrigerator door. "God, Rachel, what do you eat? There's like, no food in here!"

I can't help but snicker. Yanking a duffel bag from under my bed I begin to haphazardly toss clothes into it as I yell back my response. "I know. I meant to go to the store but I got called in on my day off, and I just didn't have time. It's not like I'm home to eat a lot anyway. I eat out… often."

"Did you ever stop to think that-" he cuts off abruptly.

"I don't really do much thinking." I joke, and grab my passport and social security card off my dresser and head into the kitchen. But the smile vanishes from my face when I catch sight of his. I know he's caught sight of the blood stains on the floor, and maybe of the broken glass in the garbage can. Though I know the answer, I play dumb and ask, "What's wrong?"

"What happened here last night? What really happened? This is much worse than 'he hit me'"

"It's bad okay." I choke out. "It's worse when he drinks, but it's really bad. And I really… I really don't want to talk about it."

He sets the wine down on the Formica countertop and gathers me in his arms. He holds me close, my head falls onto his shoulder, and I give into the tears. Messy, hot and wet, wave after wave crashes over me, ravaging sobs which crest high, followed by shallow breaths dragging me low.

"Never again." He promises with conviction. "I will never let him touch you again."


	5. Hear Your Speech Out

Author's Note: I want to thank everyone who's still reading this for sticking with me. I promise that eventually, this will get finished (reviews are a powerful motivator... so hint hint... lol jk.) now, onto the update...

* * *

The snow which had been threatening us all night finally begins to fall. These picture perfect flakes drift lazily toward the ground, meandering around like choreographed dancers. I race outside, watching as the few cars on the road crawl slowly forward, safely inching their way towards a destination. I listen as a horn somewhere blares loudly, tires screech and someone utters a stream of obscenities. While the precipitation catches in my hair, I complete a few neat pirouettes. The exhilaration of the first snow of the season has momentarily erased my pain, and a small laugh even escapes me. I tilt my head back, open my mouth wide, and let the stain of lies and fear be washed away from my mouth. My eyes fall on Will, holding all the things I packed, leaning nonchalantly against a light post, watching me intensely.

"Come on Mr. Schue!" I call out, "you have to catch them on your tongue! It's tradition!"

He rolls his eyes, but breaks into a smile. "Rachel, you can't kiss me like you did before and then call me Mr. Schue, like I'm still your teacher. It makes me feel like a creep."

"Old habits and such" I snort. "Now come on!" I grab his hand, forcing him to drop my bag, and pull him close, spinning around in the flakes. This combination of snow and newfound freedom has me feeling as if I were slightly drunk, and slightly out of control. And I'm surprised to discover how much I actually enjoy that feeling. We stop moving long enough for him to brush a loose, wet, matted hair away from my face.

"You never cease to amaze me." He whispers so softly, I'm not sure I'm meant to have heard it, before crashing our lips together.

I'm not prepared for this kiss. I don't expect the way his mouth closes firmly over mine. Nor am I ready for the way my heart rolls softly over in my chest.

Embracing there on the sidewalk, with the snow falling picturesquely around us, I know we make a pretty sight. Standing there, in that moment, I can think of no where I'd rather be. So of course it is then that the dark thoughts snake their way into the recesses of my mind.

I break away, tilting my face towards his. "Will, what… what happens when you go back to Lima?"

His face falls, and he turns, picks up my duffel bag, and we begin walking towards the train station as the snow starts to fall harder.

"I don't know." He finally admits. "I hate that I can't have an answer for you, but I can promise we'll figure it out." We duck inside the station, sheltered from the now raving storm. "It will work out. I mean, with any luck, I'll get a job here before winter break even ends, and it won't be an issue."

"We'll figure it out." I repeat. "We have to."

* * *

I cocoon myself with the blankets on Will's bed while he takes his turn at being pelted by the heat of the shower's spray. Finally warm and dry, I flip mindlessly through the T.V. channels, searching vainly for something to distract me. The old black and white Humphrey Bogart movie, _To Have and Have Not_ flickers on AMC, and I settle down to watch. I turn the volume low and recite the sultry Lauren Bacall's next line from memory.

_"Who was the girl Steve?"_

I don't hear it when Will emerges from the bathroom flanked at his back by puffy clouds of steam until he spits out the next line.

_"Who was what girl?"_

_"The one who left you with such a high opinion of women."_ I respond naturally, then turn and face him, pleased he knows the film as well as I.

"It's one of my favorites." He murmurs.

I offer up a small smile. "Mine too." I pat the space on the bed next to me, and he crawls under the blanket, snuggling down to watch. "It's hopelessly melancholic." I add as an afterthought.

He gently caresses my face. "I hate to see you like this. So hopelessly melancholy yourself."

"He's changed me Will. I don't know if that was his intention, but I know I'm not the naive, happy go lucky girl you remember from McKinley High."

"We're supposed to change as we grow up. That's a part of life. Nobody expects you to still be the same girl you were back in 10th grade. And the things which happen in our past might create who we become today, but that doesn't mean we need to let them define the essence of who we are."

As the sheer truth in what he's said smacks into me, I know suddenly I need to tell him the whole story. I know he deserves that much.

"Last night…" I begin slowly, unsure of how to best word it, deciding ultimately to go with completely honesty. "Last night, I think he wanted to kill me. He… somehow, he knew I'd gone out with you after the show. He accused me of being unfaithful." I laugh bitterly at the irony. "I tried to explain, but he'd been drinking. Vodka and a lot of it…" I trail off, lost in the flashback.

"And he didn't care what you had to say. Everything was a crappy excuse; every word you said was somehow a lie." He finishes for me.

I nod; his total understanding of the situation gives me the strength I need to continue the tale. "He slapped me, knocked me down, and knocked the wind right out of me. And he just kept going. Kicking, punching, hitting… didn't even give me a chance to get up, to fight back. His vodka bottle shattered. I think he hit me with that too. I'm not really sure though, I passed out. When I woke up, he was gone."

We sit in silence for a moment before he speaks.

"Rachel, I… I need you to-"

I shake my head in affirmation before he can finish, knowing already what he needs. Validation. Not because he doesn't believe me, but more because he doesn't _want_ to. It would be easier for him, easier for us both if he didn't believe I'd be broken so completely. But since I have, the only choice left is we to fix it, which can't be done without visual confirmation of the injuries. So wordlessly I rise, and shrug off the soft terrycloth hotel bathrobe. Standing before him in only my bra and panties, my body reveals the patches of amethyst etched into my torso, the healing splotches of faded yellow marking my legs and the vermillion cuts where the glass scratched me. I will myself not to cry at his reaction. His face is ghost white, skin clammy; he sucks in a hard breath before speaking.

"Rachel, why didn't you leave the first time he did this?"

I redress and climb back into my blanket nest. "I provoked him that time. It was a mutual fight that got out of hand, and I shoved him first I think. I deserved to get hit back. And he was really sorry about it, right away he apologized. He cried, like he couldn't believe he'd even done it, and I felt so badly about the whole thing, I just let it go. I didn't think twice about it after that."

"Until it happened again."

"And again and again. Then it was too late. He's promised to kill me if I ever leave me."

"Have you considered pressing charges?"

"Honestly, I just want the whole thing to vanish." I admit with a sigh. "I just want to forget the pain he's created and move forward with my life. I can't do that if I have to drag myself through a whole court battle. Plus, I don't have any evidence."

"You're joking right? If the bruises aren't proof enough, there's a stain on your kitchen floor that tells a pretty convincing story."

"It's my word against his. And he's got this way about him, this charisma, which just wins people over. I'd lose a court case Will. I'd feel worse for doing it."

He wraps an arm around me, pulling me close, inhaling the scent of my hair. "Okay." He murmurs, gently kissing the top of my head. "whatever you want, I will make happen. After we sleep."

I yawn, suddenly surprised to discover how exhausted I actually am. I sink deeper into the bed, shutting my eyes, and slowly drift off to the sounds of Humphrey Bogart falling in love with Lauren Bacall.


	6. Looks Like a Rerun

**Author's Note: Alrighty! The semester from hell is officially over, and now I have two blissful weeks of semi-freedom (I still have to teach middle-school during the daytime) with which I can hopefully write more and update more frequently. **

**Okay, that being said, this chapter is an experiment, me playing with different writing styles and trying to weave a few different elements into the story. I may not leave it in because honestly I'm not sure I'm happy with the way it turned out. Please let me know what you think.**

**One final thing, and then I'll let you get to it: all song lyrics used belong to people far more talented than I. **

**Enjoy… I hope.**

* * *

Dreams are a powerful, if mysterious force. They're this one place our thoughts traverse, the one space we allow our minds to wander where we have absolutely no control of what we think. Our dreams can be strange, passionate, heart wrenching, elating or tragic. They can hold hidden meanings and show us things we never knew or realized. Sometimes we recall our nightly escapades, often we forget them. And regardless of whether they occur in black and white or in color, one thing remains constant.

Everybody Dreams.

_I squirm in my seat, the hard plastic of the choir room chairs seems to grow more uncomfortable with every second that passes. Though everything surrounding me is dark, the essence of the room where I spent so many waking hours during high school holds a sense of comfort, a sense of the familiar. I hold my hand in front of my face and turn it over a few times. It's my 20 year old hand, the hand of today which doesn't belong in the glee room. Manicured for my onstage persona, and scarred from my past fights with Alexander. Confusion sinks into me, I wonder what the hell I'm doing back in Lima. _

_But before I have time to do any serious contemplating on that subject, Mr. Schuester enters the classroom and flicks on the light. _

"_Why are you sitting in the dark?" _

_Seeing his face, hearing his voice sends a surge of relief through my system. I jump out of my uncomfortable chair and propel myself into his arms. _

"_Will! Thank god you're here! I have no idea what's going on! How did we get here when-"_

_He holds up a hand, cutting me off and takes a step back, glancing at me curiously. _

"_I thought… I thought we talked about this crush you had on me." He sighs softly. "I thought you were over it…" _

"_Wh…what? What are you talking about? That was years ago! I did get over it! I hadn't thought about you until you came to me and told me you hadn't stopped thinking about me for years! We were just in your hotel room in New York. I can't remember how we got back here!" _

"_Rachel… I never… I would never say anything like that to a student. And we haven't even gone to New York yet. Nationals are next week…"_

"_But…" I stare into his eyes and see he's thinking I'm completely insane, so I change tracks. "What year is it?" _

_He rolls his eyes. "2011. Your name is Rachel Berry, you're a junior at William McKinley high, the self-proclaimed star of our glee club and…" he touches the collar of my shirt gingerly, "apparently you were recently slushied." He pauses, searching my face for clues. "Are you feeling alright?" _

_I nod, muttering, "Oh." I'm suddenly aware of the cherry red stain marking the white button down I'm wearing. Which incidentally is a typical "high school Rachel" outfit. That is to say an oxford shirt paired with a plaid mini skirt. While I'm assessing my outfit, my fellow glee members begin to enter the room in groups twos and threes, chattering quietly amongst themselves. I step away from Will, falling into line and return to my seat. Shortly, Mr. Schuester calls us to order. _

"_So, despite the fact that some of us seem to have forgotten what day it is…" he glances pointedly in my direction as he says this "Nationals are coming up shortly, and we need to finalize our set list. Now, there really isn't time for use to write and compose another amazing song, and we do need to have three… so we're just going to have to choose the last one." _

_Finn looks pensive for a moment before speaking. "Well, I mean we sorta gave our songs a theme this year. Like, stuff we've dealt with…It'd be nice to stick with that." _

"_Yeah" Tina agrees readily "It would be nice to keep that going." _

"_But we have another original song." Britney adds "We should like, just do 'My Headband'" _

_Santana rolls her eyes. "Please don't talk." _

_Ignoring them both, Puck speaks up. "What other crap have we gone through recently? I mean besides being dumped and slushied…" _

"_Dating violence" dream me mutters under my breath._

_Wait. This isn't how this happened at all. Why did I just say that? What the hell is going on? _

_Artie, who is sitting to my immediate right, nods his head in agreement, I watch Mr. Schuester move his head in assent too. _

"_I think that's a worthy cause to bring to light. Even if no one here is expierencing this right now, I still think it's worth singing about." He picks up a marker and scribes our latest theme in bright red across the whiteboard. A shiver races through my system. "Which songs could fit this theme?" he asks the group as a whole. _

"_Martina McBride, Broken Wing?" Quinn suggests_

"_Nirvana, Rape Me." Sam says, earning high fives from both Puck and Finn._

_Will nods at the boys and adds the suggestions to the board. _

"_What about that Eminem song" Mike asks. "You know, that new one, with the hot chick from Barbados?" _

"_Love the Way You Lie." Mercedes answers. "Definitely." She scans the room and is met with nearly unanimous nods from the entire class. _

_That's all the ammo Artie needs, and he wheels his way up to the front of the classroom. He stops, looking directly at me, asking wordlessly if I'll sing with him. I stand on shaky feet, not sure what's possessing me to do this, yet still I move toward him, inhale and give myself over to the song… _

"Just gonna stand there  
And watch me burn  
But that's alright  
Because I like  
The way it hurts  
Just gonna stand there  
And hear me cry  
But that's alright  
Because I love  
The way you lie  
I love the way you lie  
I love the way you lie

I can't tell you what it really is  
I can only tell you what it feels like  
And right now there's a steel knife  
In my windpipe  
I can't breathe  
But I still fight  
While I can fight  
As long as the wrong feels right  
It's like I'm in flight  
High of a love  
Drunk from the hate  
It's like I'm huffing paint  
And I love it the more that I suffer  
I sufficate  
And right before im about to drown  
She resuscitates me  
She fucking hates me  
And I love it  
Wait  
Where you going  
I'm leaving you  
No you ain't  
Come back  
We're running right back  
Here we go again  
It's so insane  
Cause when it's going good  
It's going great  
I'm Superman  
With the wind in his bag  
She's Lois Lane  
But when it's bad  
It's awful  
I feel so ashamed  
I snap  
Who's that dude  
I don't even know his name  
I laid hands on her  
I'll never stoop so low again  
I guess I don't know my own strength

Just gonna stand there  
And watch me burn  
But that's alright  
Because I like  
The way it hurts  
Just gonna stand there  
And hear me cry  
But that's alright  
Because I love  
The way you lie  
I love the way you lie  
I love the way you lie

You ever love somebody so much  
You can barely breathe  
When you're with them  
You meet  
And neither one of you  
Even know what hit 'em  
Got that warm fuzzy feeling  
Yeah them chills  
Used to get 'em  
Now you're getting fucking sick  
Of looking at 'em  
You swore you've never hit 'em  
Never do nothing to hurt 'em  
Now you're in each other's face  
Spewing venom  
And these words  
When you spit 'em  
You push  
Pull each other's hair  
Scratch, claw, bit 'em  
Throw 'em down  
Pin 'em  
So lost in the moments  
When you're in 'em  
It's the rage that took over  
It controls you both  
So they say it's best  
To go your separate ways  
Guess that they don't know ya  
Cause today  
That was yesterday  
Yesterday is over  
It's a different day  
Sound like broken records  
Playin' over  
But you promised her  
Next time you'll show restraint  
You don't get another chance  
Life is no Nintendo game  
But you lied again  
Now you get to watch her leave  
Out the window  
Guess that's why they call it window pane

Just gonna stand there  
And watch me burn  
But that's alright  
Because I like  
The way it hurts  
Just gonna stand there  
And hear me cry  
But that's alright  
Because I love  
The way you lie  
I love the way you lie  
I love the way you lie

Now I know we said things  
Did things  
That we didn't mean  
And we fall back  
Into the same patterns  
Same routine  
But your temper's just as bad  
As mine is  
You're the same as me  
But when it comes to love  
You're just as blinded  
Baby please come back  
It wasn't you  
Baby it was me  
Maybe our relationship  
Isn't as crazy as it seems  
Maybe that's what happens  
When a tornado meets a volcano  
All I know is  
I love you too much  
To walk away though  
Come inside  
Pick up your bags off the sidewalk  
Don't you hear sincerity  
In my voice when I talk  
Told you this is my fault  
Look me in the eyeball  
Next time I'm pissed  
I'll aim my fist  
At the dry wall  
Next time  
There will be no next time  
I apologize  
Even though I know it's lies  
I'm tired of the games  
I just want her back  
I know I'm a liar  
If she ever tries to fucking leave again  
I'mma tie her to the bed  
And set the house on fire

Just gonna stand there  
And watch me burn  
But that's alright  
Because I like  
The way it hurts  
Just gonna stand there  
And hear me cry  
But that's alright  
Because I love  
The way you lie  
I love the way you lie  
I love the way you lie"

_I belt out the last note, and the room changes, fading to black, spinning and shifting shape. I'm falling, and there's no end in sight._

* * *

_The room takes shape. Everything is in boxes, and I hear people downstairs shouting to each other about where to put things. I know where I am now. I remember this day vividly. It's not one I'm ever likely to forget. This is my first day in my brand new Stamford apartment. The movers are downstairs helping me truck the secondhand furniture (It was all I could afford, for now anyway) up the stairs. This is the night I'll make my broadway debut, and that furniture won't stay secondhand for long. I sharply breathe in. This is the day I meet Alexander. His voice travels up the stairs, a swear as he backs into the doorway, screaming at his co-worker to "twist it, no the other way you moron" _

_I stifle a giggle, and watch him, just as impressed by his physical strength as I was the real first time around. When they finally manage to squeeze the old green sofa through the door, he turns to me, offers up a small smile and asks, _

"_Where doya want it lady?" _

_I gesture over to the single window. "Over there please." _

_Once they drop the furniture in place, Alex pauses, taking a moment to wipe the sweat from his brow. _

"_Hi" he croons_

_I recall how the real Rachel in this moment stumbled over her words, choked up by how handsome he is, even when he's gross and covered in sweat. I sneer internally, disgusted with myself. I say nothing, and he takes a step towards me, putting his hands on my shoulders. Running those hands I know will bring me pain over my body, touching me, feeling me, when I haven't invited him there, when I don't want him there anymore._

_I do the only thing I think I can. _

_I scream._

* * *

I wake up screaming, drenched in a cold sweat, disoriented and unable to remember where I am.

"Rachel." Will murmurs, holding me closely. "Relax, you're safe now."

I breathe in a few times, slowly calming down as I begin to realize I had only been dreaming. "Bad dream" I spit out finally.

"I know." He says soothingly. "I know. Do you want to talk about it?"

I shake my head. "No… it's just… he's everywhere. Even when I leave, he's there, haunting my memories, stalking my dreams. I don't know if I'll ever really get out."

Will brushes his lips over my forehead. "You've been through something horrible, something unimaginable. And something like that doesn't just… vanish overnight. He's going to be there, probably for a while, because Rachel, like it or not, this is a part of you now. So you have a choice. You can let it destroy you, or you can let it make you stronger."

"Do I have to decide right now?" I question stupidly, still half-asleep and shaking from the dream.

"No. You get time to be afraid, and you get time to grieve, because you loved him, and he hurt you. And for the record, I won't let this destroy you."

I lay back down, wrapping myself in the protection of Will's arms once again. "For the record," I whisper as we drift back towards sleep, "I never loved him."


End file.
